Enough
by Gedia Kacela
Summary: 'For the life of me, I don’t know why I love him. I don’t know why I let myself fall into his kisses, melt with his caress. I shouldn't need him. But I do.' HG/SS vignette


Enough  
  
Disclaimer: It all belongs to the great JKR, may she live a hundred years and come out with Book 5 before I go mad.  
  
Author's Note: Just something I wrote in about 5 minutes. A short HG/SS.  
  
***  
  
For the life of me, I don't know why I love him. I don't know why I let myself fall into his kisses, melt with his caress. It shouldn't be so easy for me to get lost in his inky black eyes.  
  
I shouldn't need him.  
  
But I do. I need him desperately. One day without his touch is like torture to me, to return to it is like a drink of water after crossing a desert.  
  
It's pathetic, I know. I laugh at myself as I think about it, as I think of how I shiver at the thought of his bare chest, pale skin stretched tight over sinewy muscles. I love him, of all people, him.  
  
He was the one we talked about, groaned about, wanted to curse into next week. He was the one we called slimy, greasy, even a bastard when our language got more colourful. And now I lie with him in bed, my head tucked beneath his chin, my senses full of him. I can feel the warmth from his body, his breath washing across my back. I can still taste his kisses that we shared just minutes before. I can smell the ardent scent of brewed potions that I love, that clings to him no matter how often he bathes. And I can hear his steady heartbeat and calm, even breaths.  
  
He envelops me in a way I never knew, that I never dreamed of. And even in the dreams I had, he was never there. It was as unexpected as when I was eleven and found out that I was a witch, only more pleasantly so.  
  
It's hard for him, I know, hard to feel after years of repressing emotions. He hasn't said the words yet, the words I've whispered to him in the midst of... things... but I've seen it in his eyes, seen him aching to return the confession.  
  
Maybe one day he will.  
  
But it doesn't matter to me. Nothing does, except for the fact that I'm here.  
  
I still don't know how I'm here, lying with him each night, falling asleep in his embrace, sharing the intimacy of lovers. I don't know how my image of him changed from that of a hateful, spiteful git to that of what I see him as now.  
  
Now... now he's warm and passionate and... alive. I found that he was in possession of a heart after all, though he hid the fact very well for many years.  
  
But still, I don't know why I love him. I can't point out any specific thing. He's no knight in shining armor, or even a Quiddich star. He's not terribly handsome, he doesn't read or write poetry, and he's certainly not the best at professing emotions. He's moody, quiet, secretive, bad-tempered, and crass.  
  
So many times I find myself losing my temper at him. My cheeks flush in anger at a harsh remark or comment he's made and I slam closed the book I'm reading and snap at him, storming from the room a moment later.  
  
But for some reason, I always come back. And of course, I'm the one to come looking for him, not the other way round. He has an even stronger will than I myself possess, which does not always make for the most compatible relationship.  
  
But we forgive and forget, I suppose, and don't cry over spilt milk. It's not good to linger in the past, we both know that. Besides, we don't really have anywhere else to go besides back to each other. As much as I need him, he needs me more. I may be the only one who can keep away the demons of his past, the only one he'll let close enough to do so.  
  
Of course, he'll never admit to the fact- he's much too proud for his own good. But we both know it.  
  
I love the sullen, egotistical, self-righteous bastard, I really do... even if I'll never be able to say why. Love's enough for us, I suppose. Even I, who always needed an explanation for everything, who was so sure the answer to everything could be found in some book or another... even I don't need a reason.  
  
I raise my head to look at him, to take in his face, with his hawkish nose, defined cheekbones, and black lanky hair that's scattered across his face and the pillow he lay on. I kiss him softly, caressing his smooth, thin lips with my own. His black eyes flicker open to regard me in that strange way he has.  
  
His hand comes up to entwine in my curls, his fingertips rubbing lightly against my scalp. "Aren't you asleep yet?" he murmured.  
  
"I was thinking," I return with a smile.  
  
"Enough thinking, Hermione. Go to sleep, for Merlin's sake. No wonder you've got such great bags under your eyes all the time. You think too damn much."  
  
With another grumble, he shifted positions and closed his eyes, moving slightly away from me.   
  
I lay back on the pillows with a smile. "God forbid I use my mind, Severus. But I'll try not to think so 'damn much,' if it'll make you happy."  
  
"Good," he grunts before returning to sleep. I try hard not to laugh, at both him and myself. This was the man I was in love with. Somewhere along the way, I must have lost my mind.  
  
But the truth was, insane or not, I didn't care anymore.  
  
I was in love, for Merlin knows what reason.  
  
And that was enough.  
  
END  
  
Notes 2: Is it just me or was that horribly out of character? Ah well, I needed to write a slightly romantic vignette, and that's what came out. *shrug* See what you make of it. 


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